


Good Night, My Love

by AlicienneOfTarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camping, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Idiots in Love, JB Smut Swap 2021, Kissing in the Rain, Mutual Pining, Outdoor Sex, Rain, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29381145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlicienneOfTarth/pseuds/AlicienneOfTarth
Summary: "Her freckles have multiplied under the sun and he thinks more than once about licking them away to make them disappear, flattening his tongue on her skin, like rubber on paper. Not that he doesn’t like her freckles, he simply doesn’t want someone else to discover them, her freckles should only be his."Jaime doesn't know why Brienne is so distant, but every night he loves her a little more.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 81
Kudos: 222
Collections: The Exchange that was Promised: Jaime x Brienne Smut Swap 2021





	Good Night, My Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sdwolfpup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/gifts).



> For the utterly amazing sdwolfpup,  
> Prompts, which I loved, especially the first one: Rain / Sexytimes in public and they don't get caught / song: Lucinda Williams, "Essence"
> 
> I couldn't choose one, so I tried to include all of them.
> 
> Huge thanks to my Beta G., thanks for your patience and support and to Wildling and Bussdowntarthiana for creating this exchange. I hope this story brings you some love.

* * *

They have made a habit to meet each other at midnight, when the others are already sleeping in their tents.

The first night is cloudy.

They sit in front of their tents, facing each other.

Their tents are not that distant, some yards between them, close enough to allow them to glance furtively at each other, but not that close to make a decent conversation without shouting.

Jaime went camping with Brienne’s friends, now his friends too, because everything concerning her becomes his at some point, or so he likes to think.

She’s putting an after-sun lotion on her legs, she got burnt that afternoon during a swim in the creek. He has spent the same afternoon watching her from the rocks. She’s elegant in the water and light, he almost doesn’t recognize her, her movements anchoring him like a magnet. Her freckles have multiplied under the sun and he thinks more than once about licking them away to make them disappear, flattening his tongue on her skin, like rubber on paper. Not that he doesn’t like her freckles, he simply doesn’t want someone else to discover them, her freckles should only be his.

Brienne usually blushes when she feels his gaze on her, this time she can't go underwater to escape it, though.

She whimpers when she reaches a particular spot, it must burn more than the others. Her face is red too and she’s sulking. There was a time when her perpetual scowl unnerved him, now he can’t imagine a world without it. _I want you,_ he finds himself saying, but thankfully she doesn’t hear him.

He reaches for his phone to text her.

\- Need a hand with the lotion?

He watches her picking up her phone and frowning. Her answer is predictable, but makes him smile nonetheless.

\- No.

She glances at him a last time before entering in her tent.

_Good night my love,_ he says, watching her disappear.

  
  


The second night, the wind has taken the clouds away.

Brienne is reading a novel, Jaime is sketching on his notepad.

She doesn’t know that his sketches, lately, are about a Goddess with big feet and large hands. The Goddess also has huge, blue eyes and she fights her mortal enemies with her lethal freckles dust. When she’s done fighting crimes and saving innocents, she comes home to vent her disappointment in the world by fucking her neighbour into oblivion. His boss had been thrilled when he presented the new concept, but he doesn’t know that the Goddess really exists and that Jaime is her neighbour.

Brienne sighs because the wind keeps messing the pages of her book and every time she flattens them, they come to life again. He chuckles and she looks up, glaring at him. There’s a book lamp fixed on the pages, one of those obscure objects she owns and he endlessly teases her about it.

She’s reading the thriller he bought her a month ago and that notion warms him in a silly way he can’t explain.

He had left the book in front of the door at the end of a tremendous week at work. He’s familiar with her mood changes now, he knows the worry lines on her forehead when she’s nervous, he’d like to make them disappear too.

\- Do you want to know the killer? he texts her.

\- No.

He chuckles again, while she stands up, stretching. He sees a glimpse of her abs under her tank top and he finds himself semi hard in his boxers.

_Good night, my love,_ he says when she goes inside.

  
  


The third night is cold.

Not really cold, but unusually cold for a summer night.

Brienne doesn’t go outside, but he can see her shadow moving in the tent. He likes the way she moves; she moves in her own way, showing a confidence he knows doesn’t really belong to her.

Yes, it’s cold outside and he thinks about a thousand ways to warm her up.

Some are gentle, some less. Each one includes his body covering hers, his tongue licking her neck, his cock restless inside her. A part of him knows she’s thinking the same way too, but she’ll never admit that.

It frustrates and excites him at the same time.

That morning, on a hike, he made her a daisy bracelet; she had snorted, taking it and pointing out it wasn’t big enough for her wrist. She has worn it all day though, stretching her arm to observe it under the sunlight when she thinks he’s not looking.

A gust of wind moves his tent slightly and he trembles on his bedroll.

\- Are you cold? he texts her.

The blue double ticks reveal she was waiting for his message. _Let me warm you up._

\- I am, she answers back.

\- Do you want my sweater?

\- No.

\- Do you want an extra blanket?

\- No.

\- Do you want me to hold you?

Three dots appear and then disappear.

He’s holding his breath when she finally answers. -Night Jaime.

_Good night my love,_ he says in his empty tent.

  
  


The fourth night the sky is covered in stars.

They’re both looking at them from their thresholds, but while Brienne’s gaze is fixed on the sky, his own finds her face more often. She has an alluring glimmer in her eyes that he has only found on one other occasion, on another night. He shivers, knowing he has been the one putting that glimmer there once.

He doesn’t know if that thought makes him happy or sad.

She’s eating an apple, wiping away some drops of juice from her chin with her fingers. He would pay a million to suck it away from her skin and save her the trouble. Suddenly she’s looking at him and once she has his attention, she throws the apple in his direction. He catches it and takes a bite, right where she has taken hers. The apple tastes delicious and he savours it a little more before throwing it back to her.

“Do you see that big cross?” he almost shouts, pointing at the sky.

She looks up, furrowing her brows. “I guess.”

“It’s the swan,” he says. “The horizontal lines are the wings, the verticals the body.”

“Great.”

“The first half of the vertical line is its neck. That’s why it’s longer.”

She throws him the apple again. _It makes me think of you,_ he whispers, hiding his words in the fruit. He takes another bite, thinking about that time he did bite her neck, her long and soft neck, making her skin flush while she asked him to go deeper. He takes his phone and texts her.

\- Do you want me to make you see the stars in another way?

It’s corny and stupid, but it doesn’t really matter.

Between the joke and the truth.

He hears her snort from her threshold and he laughs.

“Night, Jaime.”

_Goodnight, my love,_ he says, looking at the Swan.

  
  


The fifth night is hot and sultry.

Jaime is lying on his bedroll seeking air from the opening of his tent.

He’s pretending to be asleep, but his eyes keep wandering outside and checking her movements. Brienne is cooking, which is weird considering the late hour and her non-existent skills. He always teases her about it, but that never stops her from trying. She’s wearing a head torch and he bites his lip trying not to chuckle. She’s cute, but she’ll never believe that. He can see, through his half open eyelids, that she’s mixing something in a bowl. Brienne is methodical and patient, he always has the impression she knows exactly what she’s doing, which is reassuring somehow. She stands up and he shuts his eyes when he realizes she’s walking toward his tent.

“Are you sleeping?”

He pretends for a while, until he stretches, looking up at her. “Kinda.”

The head torch is gone and her hair is messy.

“I made an extra portion,” she says, handing him the bowl and sitting on his threshold.

He’s not hungry, but he’s eager when he takes it. “Thanks.”

“It’s a dessert,” she says. “It’s.. it was Galladon’s favourite.”

He doesn’t know what to say after that, she’s usually frugal with her confidences, he still hasn’t figured out how to take them. “We used to make this when we went camping together as kids. My father always complained about the mess we made, but Galladon kept adding chocolate in the bowl, bossing me around, I was his sous-chef. He.. he would have turned 30 today.”

He stops eating, looking at her. “I’m sorry,” he says. “This must be hard for you.”

She shrugs, Brienne always shrugs and he never asks for more. She only gives him crumbles of her life, but he collects every single one of them like gemstones.

“It’s delicious,” he tells her instead and her smile makes his heart flutter.

“We usually shared the same bedroll and we fell asleep late because we were too busy making shadows on the roof with our fingers and trying to guess them.”

“You two seemed close.”

“We were.”

“Do you miss him?” It’s such a stupid question, he wishes he can take it back.

“I do, some days more than the others..I guess today is one of those days.”

“Do you want to sleep here with me tonight?”

She frowns and he really doesn’t know why he has said that out loud, but at least she’s considering it, he can tell. He’s not good with words, but he’d be thoughtful in holding her. She’s looking down, sucking her lip and he gives her time to think. She leans toward him, taking the empty bowl from his hands. She hesitates for a moment and he smells the soap on her skin. One strap of her tank top slips from her shoulder. He sighs, lingering there. He wants to kiss that same spot. “Good night, Jaime,” she says, retreating.

“Good night..” _my love._

  
  


The sixth night, there’s a thunderstorm.

Lighting and thunder cross the sky and he keeps tossing and turning on the bedroll.

There’s still a light visible through her tent and he looks at her shape, she seems restless too.

It makes him think about the first time they talked to each other. The thunderstorm was as violent as this one and the power went out in the whole building. They met in the hallway that connected their apartments. “Do you have some candles?” they asked at the same time. Jaime had laughed, Brienne had frowned. Her confusion had made him laugh even more. They had ended up waiting together for the light to come back, sitting with their backs pressed against the wall, closing the distance between their bodies every time the thunder was a little bit louder, talking about nothing in particular.

He remembers being struck down by her eyes once the light had come back.

The thunderstorm doesn’t seem to stop and he takes his phone from his backpack.

\- Are you scared? he texts her.

Her shape stills when she reads his text. - No, she answers.

He almost gives up, but his phone buzzes again. -Are you?

The thunder that follows is loud and violent. - Fuck, yes.

He’s almost sure he can hear her laugh.

Thirty seconds later they’re facing each other in his tent, laying on their sides. Brienne’s hair is wet and he reaches out to tuck a lock around her ear. She closes her eyes briefly and she opens them again. She’s looking at him in a way he can’t understand.

“Remember the first time we met?” he asks her.

She nods. “A tragedy.”

He laughs. “Come on, your life wouldn’t be the same without me.”

She’s not smiling, the worry lines are back on her forehead. He wants to tease her again, but something shifts in her expression, something that makes him silent.

“Do you like Margaery?” she suddenly says.

He frowns. “Margaery?”

She nods. “Yes, I like her, she’s fun.. I guess.”

He can see she’s not satisfied with his answer. “Not like that, I mean..I saw you two joking around today..you seemed close, you would make a good couple.. do you like.. would you like to fuck her?”

Brienne is never blunt, not concerning sex at least, she rarely curses, he wonders what he has done to deserve her bluntness. “Why are you asking that?”

“All my friends end up falling for her at some point.”

“And does it bother you?”

“Usually, no.”

“Would it bother you if it was me?”

“Probably, yes.”

He touches her hair again. “You didn’t answer me.” she whispers.

He closes the distance between them, kissing the corner of her mouth. Her fingers grab the pillow they’re sharing and he kisses the same spot again. She lets out a sound, half a moan, half a whimper. It makes him kiss her again, a little lower. He’s almost sure he would find her wet between her legs, the same way his cock is hard in his boxers. They both seek affection, but they show it in different ways. He’s needy, while she’s reluctant.

A gesture of tenderness can turn them on more than a mind-blowing orgasm.

Her eyelids are heavy and her lashes brush against his. Part of him wants to reach down to caress her through her panties, another part wants to hold her, kissing her face. He flattens his palm next to hers on the pillow.

She has fallen asleep during his inner struggle.

_Good night, my love,_ he says, but, thankfully, she doesn’t hear him.

  
  


The seventh night is rainy.

A light rain falls and she’s still annoyed at him.

Brienne is annoyed because they have spent the evening drinking and dancing together until he has ruined it. He’s still a little bit drunk perhaps, she’s probably still tipsy. Only tipsy, she’s never drunk. They had danced around the fire, their dancing had been innocent at first, a little awkward, until he had pressed her body to his and her ass had brushed his erection. One of her hands had sneaked into his hair, his lips had closed around her lobe, whispering _I want you, I want you,_ over and over again. She had arched at first, giving him access to her neck, her swan neck. He had bitten it once or twice, sucking her skin while she had pressed her ass more firmly against him. _Take me to your tent._

She had run away at that. He could have used other words, better words.

She still wears her blue sundress as she sits on the threshold. She seems not bothered by the rain, while he’s wearing a hoodie. The delicate cloth of her skirt keeps riding up every time she moves and he can’t physically look away. Her legs seem to go on forever under his gaze and when she opens them briefly he holds his breath. She knows he’s looking at her, he wonders if his gaze is making her bolder. She slides one of her hands on her thigh, caressing it, she’s probably fighting against a mosquito’s bite and she’s surely not aware she’s seducing him; not that it’s difficult, it only takes a look in her eyes to screw him forever. She shifts again, exposing her other leg. _Gods, let me see you,_ he whispers, _open your legs._ He’s blaming the alcohol, but deep down he knows he is the only one to blame. She stretches her legs in front of her and he puts his hands in his pockets, trying to raise his jeans plastered on his cock, to relieve his erection. When she curls her fingers around her skirt, gathering it up, not to wet it, he groans, biting his lip.

He takes his phone.

\- I want to.. he starts typing and then deletes it. I want to fuck you, deleted. I want to taste you, deleted.

\- I want to see you.

\- I’m right here in front of you, she replies.

-I want you closer.

He tries to decipher her reaction when his phone rings.

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” His voice is so hoarse, he almost doesn’t recognize it.

“All of this,” she says, trembling. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like it when I look at you like this.”

“I don’t.”

“You do,” he whispers. “You also like when I’m blunt and I tell you exactly what I want.”

She sighs and he swallows, looking at her. She seems so distant under the rain, _why does she always seem so distant?_

“And what do you want?”

“You. Every part of you. Right now, I want to fuck you.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.” Her breathing changes through the phone. “And I’ll keep saying it until you’ll believe me.”

“I won’t.”

“Do you want me to stand in the middle of this camp and scream it out loud? Because I will.” He doesn’t wait for her reply, ending the call and walking toward her. She seems to realize his intentions, because the moment he’s about to scream it out loud how much he hopelessly wants her, she reaches him, covering his mouth with her palm.

A childish impulse makes him want to bite her fingers or lick them, but he likes breathing against her skin more.

He also likes the way her eyes darken with his proximity, he loves the drops of rain along her lashes.

His words are out the moment she moves her hand away.

“I want you,” he whispers and it’s barely audible now, but she can hear it and her protests sound weaker from her mouth.

“You’re drunk.”

“I wasn’t the first time.”

She doesn’t know what to say and he grabs her dress, pulling her closer.

She doesn’t complain.

“Do you ever think about it?” she asks him instead.

_Every fucking day._ “About what?”

He can see she’s rolling her eyes and he bites his lip not to smile. “About the night we.. you know.. we had sex.”

“We didn’t have sex,” he immediately says. “We made love, Brienne.”

“It’s the same.”

“It’s not,” he says, tightening his grip.

“Well, do you think about it?”

He sighs. “I’ve just told you I want to fuck you, what do you think?”

“What do you remember of that night?” she asks him in a whisper.

He remembers finding her sitting in front of his door, waiting for him to arrive home. When she had looked up at him, there were signs of tears on her cheeks, her nose was red, her eyes puffy. He remembers throwing his grocery bag on the floor, scattering fruit and salad everywhere, because he wanted to take her in his arms. Because hurting Brienne meant hurting him. She had told him about a disastrous blind date, about a jerk that had humiliated her, throwing roses at her feet, disappointed by her looks. After a too slow black and white movie and a tub of ice cream, they had ended up making love on his couch all night.

When he had woken up, she was already gone.

He hadn’t told her she was beautiful and still regrets it.

He’s sure she already knows that he remembers everything.

He closes the distance between them until his lips touch her ear. “I remember my lips between your legs.”

She sighs, resting her forehead on his shoulder. His fingers are still grabbing her dress and he can feel her heart thundering. The rain seems to increase too. “I remember finding you already wet, even though I hadn't even touched you.”

There are some seconds of silence and he lingers against her temple.

“Go on,” she says. “Don’t stop, please.”

_Please._ Brienne is always polite, it makes him smile. He goes on when she rests her palm on his chest, right against his heart. “My tongue fucking you while my nose brushed your clit.”

“Jaime..”

His leg sneaks between hers. “Rub against me, Brienne,” he tells her. “Then your hand was grabbing my hair and guiding my mouth on your clit, I remember sucking it while I put my thumb inside you. You tasted wonderful, I wish I could taste you now.” Her moans are gentle, they seem more elaborate breaths, muffled by his sweater, but he can still hear them. She’s rubbing against him and he fights the urge to take his cock in his hand. “Then I remember the red marks on your skin left by my beard, I’d like to spend the night licking them to give you some relief, I can still see the goosebumps around your nipples, I can see you guiding my head there until my mouth closes around your tit, I take it in my mouth, it fits perfectly, it doesn’t fit a champagne glass perhaps, but it’s perfect for my mouth. I trace its shape with my tongue, sucking your nipple while I start fucking you.”

“Jaime..” she pants. He can hear only her pleasure now along with the sound of the rain.

“Come for me,” he whispers. “You’re so warm and I love the way your thighs tighten around my hips, it makes me want to fuck you deeper.”

“Jaime, I think.. I’m..”

“Look at me, please,” he asks her, burying his fingers in her hair to raise her head. “You take my hand, leading it down and brush your clit with my knuckles until I make you come.”

She’s breathing hard now and he stops talking, lost in her pleasure.

She holds his gaze when she comes and he waits for her to calm down from her orgasm, caressing her hair.

“Do you think about it too?” he asks her then and it sounds so needy, he wants to laugh.

His heart is probably ponding like mad under her fingertips.

“I do,” she says. “I keep thinking about.." She blushes, looking down and he cups her cheek. _Please._ "I keep thinking about how you kept pleasuring me with your mouth.”

_Pleasuring her with his mouth,_ it always sounds poetic from her, because it is. “But I also.. I keep wondering why didn’t you ask me to.. you know.”

His eyes bore into hers. “Brienne I didn’t do it to have something back.”

“I know but.. you did it a lot that night, more than once, and..”

“Not enough,” he says. “Gods, I could take you there in the middle of the camp. You don’t have to give me anything.”

“But what if I want to? I know I’ve never done that before, but what if I’d like to try?”

He stills, hearing that. “Brienne, there’s no need.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she whispers.

“You can’t stop thinking about my cock in your mo-?”

She covers his mouth again and this time he laughs against her palm. “I guess,” she whispers, looking away.

“Then we’ll try,” he says, moving her fingers from his mouth

“What if I want to try now?”

“I.. are you sure?”

“I am,” she says and it comes so firm from her lips that he feels his legs weakening.

She pulls at his boxers, lowering them, until his cock is free. When she kneels in front of him, the ground is muddy and slippery under her, but she doesn’t care. He caresses her cheeks, tilting her face up to look at her. They look at each other for some seconds and he hopes she finds there what he’s still unable to tell her. The moment she takes him in her mouth, he drops his hands from her face, not really knowing what to do at first. She’s tentative and slow and he has to restrain himself from thrusting back inside her. But when her hands take his, guiding them into her hair and she looks up at him with the hugest, bluest eyes that he has ever seen, a pair of eyes that could make him come with nothing but their mere existence, he starts thrusting inside her mouth. And they keep going like that, except that now he’s caressing her everywhere, her cheeks, her brows, the length of her nose, her neck. And when he hears her moaning around his cock and sees her hands grabbing his hips, he pulls out on the verge of coming but she keeps him there, letting him spill inside her mouth. The force of his release is so intense, it makes him fall on his knees in front of her.

He doesn’t waste a second and she’s already in his arms. They don’t talk at first and he tucks her head under his chin. He takes a deep breath, overwhelmed by her closeness, enjoying the particular smell that the rain produces when it falls on a dry soil; she certainly knows how is it called, he'll ask her later. “I missed you so much,” he says against her temple.

She retreats, pecking his lips softly, twice; he keeps her there, deepening the kiss.

The rain is wetting her hair, he removes the locks glued on her forehead. “Don’t run away from me again,” he tells her. “Don’t shut yourself off.”

“I was scared,” she says, resting her forehead against his.

“Scared of what?”

“I thought..I thought it was only a fuck for you.”

“You could never be just a fuck for me, Brienne.”

She kisses him again, tenderly. He feels those kisses in his chest. “Your tent or mine?” she asks him against his lips.

He grins. “Yours. It’s closer.”

  


They spend thirty minutes kissing, probably more and it’s innocent at first, sweet, like a first dance, until he puts his hand between her legs and her hips raise to meet it. Her breathing changes then, it sounds more like an elaborate panting and he flattens her body on the bedroll, looking down at her to find that starry glimmer in her eyes again. He goes down, resting on his elbows, between her legs. He rubs his cheeks against her inner thighs because he wants to take his time with her now. The first night between them had been hectic and uncertain, without the tender and scary awareness of a new born commitment. Now, at the first touch of his tongue in her pussy, with her fingers resting on his nape, he knows there would have been promises, some screamed out loud and some left unsaid. And with every lick he promises a little more, going deeper, pressing harder. When he sucks her clit between his lips and both of her hands grab his face, he looks up, holding her gaze while he gives her the first real orgasm, taking her trembling legs in his hands, his nails leaving light marks on her hips. And when he rests his face on her belly, meeting her breathing and caressing her skin there, she pulls him up, kissing him fast to shut down his surprise and taking him inside her. _I’m clean,_ she whispers and he knows she’s clean everywhere; he’s clean too because there’s never been anyone after her. He fucks her, slowly first, then fast and then slowly again. Their hands are linked above her head, their noses keep brushing each other and the worry lines on her forehead are gone, washed away by the pearls of sweat that cover it instead; he’s sweating too, probably more than her, the temperature in the tent is insane, but it makes him want to go on forever.

He thrusts again until he feels her walls contracting.

She’s smiling when they come.

“Jaime?”

He raises his face from her neck, cupping her cheek.

“I’m glad you didn’t have candles that day.”

“I’m glad you didn’t have them either,” he says.

The rain is still falling, tapping against her tent’s roof, their tent’s roof. "The smell of rain, what's it called?"

"Petrichor," she says, frowning. "Why?"

He kisses the spot between her brows. "I like it."

_Petrichor,_ he can't wait to add a rainy evening to his sketches.

The temperature has dropped a little in the tent and when she shivers, he makes her wear his t-shirt and wraps his arms around her body, resting his chin on the arc of her neck.

“Good night, Jaime,” she whispers.

“Good night, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Petrichor" is a little tribute to the beautiful story written by sdwolfpup with the same name.
> 
> Well, pick a night, which one did you like the most?  
> Thank you for reading. ❤


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